


Remember Him?

by _FUCK_DAT_DJ_ (Octotrooper)



Category: Splatoon, Splatoon 2
Genre: AU, Brainwashing, Consensual, Consensual Brainwashing, M/M, Memory Loss, Mind Control, Music, Other, Sex, Smut, Splatoon AU, Tentacles, age gap, wasabi, weird genitalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:42:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21569356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octotrooper/pseuds/_FUCK_DAT_DJ_
Summary: Splatoon AU with 28-year-old Marina and mid-20s Agent Eight.Marina and Iso Padre have been keeping a Mem Cake of a certain lusty DJ away from Eight, and he wants to know why.A standalone sequel to my most popular fic, The Pounding Beat.
Relationships: Agent 8/DJ Octavio
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Remember Him?

“Give it back.”

The Octoling had tears in his eyes as he stared up at the face of the elderly isopod sitting on the train seat. His stomach was ablaze with anger as he clenched both of his fists.

Iso Padre folded his top set of hands under his chin and crossed his four remaining arms. He wasn’t sure why the twenty-something in front of him was so upset. “Eight” had escaped the test facility months ago, hadn’t he? And he’d quickly found himself new friends and a place to stay. What else was there?

“I’m terribly sorry,” the isopod said, shaking his head. “I know not of what you’re talking about.”

“My memories!” the Octoling snapped. “You stole them from me! Give me the damn Mem Cake back!” Padre stiffened, remembering the tiny object he had nestled away in his inner jacket pocket.

He didn’t believe in taking it from Eight at first. Memories, he argued, should not be hidden away from their original owners. But that woman, Marina… the desperation in her voice had caused him to reconsider.

“If Eight remembers _him_ , he might return to the Underground,” she’d said. “I can’t let him go back there. Not after all he’s done to get out.” Iso Padre had kept the Cake with him ever since.

The Octoling man trembled as the Isopod pulled the missing Mem Cake out of his jacket. He wanted to snatch it out of Iso Padre’s hands and jam it against his forehead. He wanted every memory in it to flood back at full force.

But he was afraid of what the Cake contained. What could Marina think he’d be safer not knowing? Eight’s memories of the time “before” were already so spotty, even after obtaining the rest of the Mem Cakes, that he didn’t know that anything important was missing until a few days ago when he noticed the curved edge of a purple circle on Marina’s upper thigh.

“You get a new tattoo?” Eight had asked.

“Oh no,” Marina had whispered, pulling her shorts down to try to hide the mark. “Oh, no, no, no, no.”

“What’s the matter?” Eight had asked, though the sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach told him he didn’t want to know the answer.

“I was hoping you’d never see this,” Marina had said, pulling up the left leg of her shorts to reveal a tattoo of an octopus splayed out inside of a circle, the letters WASA written beneath it. Eight knew the image. He had an identical one on his lower back. 

“What does ‘WASA’ mean?” he’d asked. Marina refused to speak. It took an hour of coaxing until she blurted out that there was a missing Mem Cake that would ‘explain things.’ Half-satisfied with that answer, Eight left her alone.

Iso Padre gently placed the Cake in Eight’s hands. It was shaped like a flashy-dressed red octopus carrying what looked like two large, green vegetables.

“An Octoling? Was this a friend of mine?” Eight asked, turning the Cake over in his hand.

“Not a friend,” Iso Padre said.

“Then who?”

“I believe he is your former leader.”

A lightning bolt of fear coursed through Eight’s body. He involuntarily morphed back into his octopus form and dropped the Cake on the metro train floor. Through the other Mem Cakes, Eight had seen the way the less-intelligent Octarians’ green eyes lit up and the look of awe on their faces when they started talking about their Shogun. Would the Cake cause him to react the same way?

Eight reluctantly curled a tentacle around the Cake, pressed it against his forehead, and closed his eyes.

Just like the other Cakes, the memories started out blurry and jumbled. There were bits and snatches of loud music with a strong, steady beat. Undulating tentacles, much bigger and thicker than his. Smirking eyes with green sclera, their gaze piercing and intense. And there was that laugh, a deep, overconfident “GYA HA HA” belly laugh that sent tingles up and down Eight’s body.

The fog cleared and gave way to a vision of a packed stadium. Eight bumped into other Octarians as he danced to the electronic music blasting out of giant tentacle shaped speakers. Lights flashing through the air and dramatic bursts of steam made it difficult to see. Eight’s eyes were locked on the huge, rounded DJ booth in the center of the arena, slowly rotating to give everyone a chance to view who was inside.

An oversized octopus-form Octoling sat in the center of the booth, six of his eight arms manipulating the turntables and two of them crossed in a smug way. On his head was a hat that looked like a cross between a snapback cap and a kabuto. Ladder shades obscured most of his face, but even at a distance Eight could see those fiery eyes peeking through.

“AWWWW, YEAH! OCTAVIO IN DA HOOOOOOOOUSE!” he yelled.

The bass dropped and Eight’s eyes rolled back into his head. His body rocked back and forth in time with the music and his arms raised into the air. The small part of Eight’s mind left in the present grew anxious – why would he let himself be controlled like this? His worries were quickly overridden by a disorienting euphoria. Gargling cheers filled the stadium, including Eight’s own.

The concert faded to black, and the half-memories returned. Eight felt his lean body being caressed, ablaze with lust as enormous tentacles entwined themselves around his legs. There was the scent of wasabi, soft lights, and that same “GYA HA HA” laugh in the middle of it all.

The subway car faded back into view. Eight found all his arms splayed out around him and the Cake sitting on the ground.

“What did you see, young master?” Iso Padre asked, cocking his head.

“Sex!” The words popped out of his beak before he could stop them. “Music, lights! Big Octoling!”

“A good memory, I presume?”

“I’m not sure,” said Eight as he changed into his upright form. “I was being controlled, but it wasn’t all bad. Octavio…” It was uncomfortable how familiar the name felt in his mouth. “He does things to you. I don’t know what, but I know how to find out.”

-x-

“I got my Mem Cake back.”

Marina sat across from Eight at a table at the back corner of the café. Eight fidgeted with the fat straw sticking out of his boba tea. Marina knew what was on his mind.

“You know, it’s better on the surface,” she told Eight. “There’s more to do. The sky alone is worth staying up here. If you’re thinking about heading to the Underground…”

“I don’t want to go ‘Underground,’ I want you to explain my memory,” Eight said. “I was at a concert. An Octoling named Octavio pressed a button and the whole stadium was wrapped in his tentacles. I didn’t want to fight it, and that’s what’s bothering me.”

“Shogun DJ Octavio Takowasa,” Marina nodded. “His concerts were amazing, even when you couldn’t really remember what happened.” There was a distant look in her eye. “He used his mind-control tech to get the whole crowd into a frenzy. You’d be riding the high from the Beats for hours afterward.”

“Mind-control tech? He can do that?” Eight asked.

“He gets a kick out of being in charge,” Marina said.

“So that’s why I fucked him,” Eight murmured. “He used mind-control on me, just like at the concert.”

“You had sex with him?”

“Yeah. Bastard.”

Now it was Marina’s turn to hesitate. She bit her lower lip with a pointed fang and twiddled her thumbs.

“Octavio doesn’t do that,” Marina finally said.

“What?”

“Don’t get me wrong – he’s a cad! But he doesn’t use mind-control to get people to sleep with him.”

“He doesn’t? But the Mem Cake…”

“He _prides_ himself in getting people to have sex with him without the power of Octotronica,” Marina explained. “He gets all worked up knowing he doesn’t need any help being attractive. It’s only after you’ve said ‘yes’ that he turns up the Beats.”

“So that means that I _actually wanted_ to…” Eight couldn’t finish his sentence. He stared at his half-drank tea with wide eyes.

“That’s what the tattoo means,” Marina muttered.

Eight’s stomach felt like it was weighed down with a half-ton of bricks. The old octopus that Eight had seen in the Mem Cake didn’t seem like his type at all. He preferred people like Marina – smart, gentle, kind, earnest… his own age! He scrunched his face together and sucked on his tea. Marina was a genius, but she must have been wrong this time. No way mind-control wasn’t involved.

-x-

The castle loomed before him, its old-fashioned shape clashing horribly with the giant colored searchlights that were attached at odd angles. Eight’s grip tightened around his Octoshot and he clenched his beak-teeth. Octavio had been hounding his thoughts for the last month. He’d been having dreams where he was coiled between the octopus Shogun’s massive tentacles nearly every night.

 _Residual brainwashing,_ Eight thought to himself. _That’s what it is._

Not a single Octarian had blinked as Eight traveled through the Underground. It was strange to hear everyone around him speaking in his native tongue. Around the Inklings, he had to guess what words meant, and he often guessed wrong.

There was music in the air everywhere in the Underground, but the music being pumped out of the castle was different than the wacky, off-kilter sound playing everywhere else. It was deeper, more intense. The Inklings would have called it “super fresh.” Eight could feel the music’s powers tugging at the corners of his mind, calling him to stay Underground and serve. He found himself easily able to resist.

“Halt!” one of the castle guards barked. It looked like a single tentacle with a googly-eyed face, dangling in midair by a helicopter hat. “What business do you have at Takowasa Castle?”

Eight responded by pointing his Octoshot at the airborne guard.

“Right. Um,” the guard gulped. “Come this way.”

Eight couldn’t help but think that the castle had probably looked rather regal at one point, but it wasn’t that way now, with giant strands of washi tape slapped haphazardly on every wall and plastic rhinestones glued onto ancient sculptures. Every so often, Eight saw a stalk of wasabi lying on the floor.

 _Tacky,_ thought Eight. _He’s tacky._

“I do have to ask before we get there,” the guard continued, “why do you want an audience with the DJ?”

“Goddamn brainwashing still has a hold on me,” Eight hissed.

“…And?”

“You _know_ he’s controlling you?”

“Sure,” said the guard, flopping his tentacle-tail in the Octarian equivalent of a shrug. “We all know. You didn’t?”

“Uh, I lost my memory,” Eight admitted.

“Should we get you to a hospital?” the guard asked. “We might be able to locate the jug you live in. Do you remember your ID number at all?”

“10,008.” Eight automatically responded with his Kamabo Co. ID number, then shook his head vigorously. “No, I don’t want to go to a hospital. I keep dreaming about Octavio, and I don’t want to.”

“Wha-? Who doesn’t want to dream about Octavio?” The guard had a lovestruck look on his face. “He’s the best.”

“ _Sure_ he is.”

“ _Ohhhh_!” the guard exclaimed, realization washing over him. “You’re one of the _escapees!_ ”

“Escapees?”

“No point in telling you if you don’t remember,” said the guard, a cheeky grin on his face. “Maybe the DJ will jog your memory.”

Eight stared down at his black boots. Why didn’t he lie about his situation? Maybe he just felt comfortable talking to someone else who spoke his own language. The oversized smile sitting on the tentacle-guard’s lips made Eight feel uneasy.

-x-

The octopus Shogun nodded to the beat of the music in the air. He was wearing his formal Kabuto this time, giving him an air of regality. His green eyes were caught in a look halfway between confusion and amusement. Eight didn’t understand how the Kamabo tech was able to make him forget those eyes.

“Never thought I’d see you again,” Octavio said.

“Give me my brain back,” Eight hissed. “I know you’re doing something to me.”

“Yeah? What do I do to you?” Octavio asked, leaning forward and raising a brow.

“You already know,” Eight said. He aimed his Octoshot between the Shogun’s eyes. “Make it stop, or I’ll have to use this.”

A long tentacle darted out from underneath Octavio and batted away the Octoshot so quickly that Eight didn’t have time to react. Eight swallowed the ball of ink in his throat. His weapon had flown all the way to one of the far walls.

“Let’s talk,” said Octavio, peering out from under his brow. “Why’d you come back? I thought you liked the surface.”

“I came back to stop you.”

“From what? Tryin’ to save our people?”

“Save…?”

“You heard me right.” Eight shrunk back as Octavio’s eyes flashed the deepest anger he’d ever seen. “Inksquirts crashin’ the octo-party cuz they think we’re all washed up. Hatin’ on our music cuz they don’t got the beat. You know what’s _really_ goin’ on down here?” Octavio raised two of his tentacles out to the side. “We’re _dying._ ”

“No,” Eight said, shaking his head. “There’s Octolings living in Inkopolis right now. Marina told me—”

“Marina Ida.” Octavio’s eyes scrunched with glee. “She tell you she comes down here sometimes to have some fun with me?”

“What? No, she doesn’t. Marina isn’t…”

“Marina likes the way I spin her rhythm,” Octavio said. “An’ if I remember right, so do you.” The smile in his eyes was more obnoxious than anything Eight had ever seen. Eight’s three hearts fluttered just long enough for him to notice.

“Stop fucking with me!” Eight yelled, trying to ignore the butterflies appearing one-by-one in his stomach. Octavio threw his head back and laughed. A chill zipped through Eight’s body. There it was, that damned laugh. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to hear it.

“Awright, don’t believe me,” Octavio shrugged. “Ain’t gonna change the truth.”

Eight shuffled. The DJ was exactly how Eight thought he would be – a pompous, overconfident jerk. Why was a part of him finding it _sexy!?_

 _“_ _He doesn’t use mind-control to get people to sleep with him.”_ Marina’s words bounced around in Eight’s mind like a superball. The loyalty-inducing effects of the DJ’s music were easily blocked by running his favorite Squid Sisters song in his head, but his groin was still throbbing. Did that mean…?

“Kinda looks like you want me to _really_ jog ya memory,” Octavio asked, slithering off of his throne, curling several tentacles, and cocking his huge head to the side. A rush of fire exploded in Eight’s spandex shorts as he realized what Octavio was saying.

 _Don’t do it,_ _Eight,_ he told himself. _That’s the man you were trying to escape from._

 _My octo-puss is on fire, though,_ the lust in Eight’s head argued. _It hurts. I need relief._

_Just go finger yourself in the bathroom or something!_

_I can’t… it won’t be enough!_

Against his better judgment, Eight slid his pants to the ground, exposing the simple Octarian hole between his legs to the cold palace air.

“That’s iiiiit,” Octavio said, snaking a tentacle around Eight’s waist and hoisting him into the air. “Let’s dance.”

 _“_ _It’s only after you’ve said ‘yes’ that he turns up the Beats._ _”_ Marina’s words rushed through Eight’s head as the music in the room around him became louder. The deep, pulsing beat vibrated every part of his body. Dizziness overtook him as Octavio slid a tentacle underneath his shirt and began to gently fondle his chest. Eight’s eyes started to roll back into his head as his breaths turned into heavy pants.

“You really gonna give out before I even begin my set?” Octavio asked, amused.

“What… do you have… on your arm!?” Eight asked between breaths. His body was beginning to tingle and burn everywhere the DJ touched. It felt amazing.

“You like that? That’s _wasabi,_ _”_ Octavio said. “Makes things delicious.”

“Nnnf…” Eight squirmed as the DJ raised an arm and curled it around his chin, causing the bottom of his face to grow hot.

“Open ya mouth,” Octavio said, pointing the end of his tentacle at Eight’s face. “I wanna get my flavor all up inside you.” Eight immediately opened his mouth as wide as it could go and braced himself. The octopus DJ slid his tentacle inside and laughed. “GYA HA HA HA! You’re starvin’ for me!” 

Eight moaned softly through his nose as his lips wrapped around the DJ’s tentacle. He flicked his tongue back and forth, swirling it around the tiny suckers on the end of the DJ’s arm. Eight could feel the tentacle twitching and seizing up in pleasure with each movement.

The music around them had turned into a buildup of claps, growing faster and faster. Fear flickered underneath Eight’s lust. What would happen when the bass dropped? He knew he was about to find out.

“Peep this!” Octavio said, curling two tentacles around Eight’s legs and spreading them wide as dissonant dubstep synthesizers shook the room. He shoved himself inside of Eight, thrusting on each beat, twisting his penetrating tentacle to match the feel of the off-key sounds. The Shogun had spent plenty of time during the last century mastering sexual techniques. He knew what every squirm meant, how to locate the best spot to caress, how to tell if he was being too firm or too gentle. Eight, to the DJ’s delight, liked to be handled particularly rough.

“Remember me _now?_ _”_ Octavio asked, pounding even harder. Eight couldn’t answer. Overcome by Beats-induced bliss, he was even having a hard time sucking the tentacle in his mouth. His arms and legs went limp as he allowed himself to become wracked with desire for the octopus DJ. Now he understood. Now he knew why Marina had tried to keep the Mem Cake from him. The more the DJ thrashed inside of him, the more he wanted to stay in the Underground to sexually service him. The tattoo on Eight’s back was more than proof of sex – it was a sign of loyalty.

Ink leaked out of Eight’s hole and he whimpered. He was getting so close to finishing, his body full of spicy hot pleasure and wasabi.

“Deejay… _Deejay!_ _”_ It was all Eight could manage to say. Octavio laughed again.

“Just ‘Deejay?’ Awww, c’mon, say the whole thing,” he smirked. “I wanna hear you moan it.”

“D-D-D-DJ Octavioooo……!”

Waves of orgasm spread out from Eight’s hole, covering him in sensations deeper than anything he could remember. He gave a loud cry, toes scrunched up, fists clenched, tentacle atop his head writhing as white-hot pleasure coursed through his body. Octavio was laughing more loudly than ever. Eight had a feeling he was orgasming as well, overcome with pleasure from seeing Eight’s reaction to him.

The orgasm faded, in its place a comfortable afterglow. Eight was placed on the ground. He lied there for a long time, body limp and breaths deep and slow. The DJ’s breaths were also labored, though Eight had a feeling he wouldn’t be tired for long.

Eight started to wonder if he should stick around for round two.

-x-

“You went Underground.”

Marina and Eight sat at the same coffee shop as before. Eight fiddled with his straw and stared down at his drink. He wasn’t planning on telling Marina about his experience with the DJ.

“How did you know?” he asked.

“You asked for a shake of wasabi in your tea this time,” Marina said. “I’ve never seen you do that before.”

“So I’m trying new things,” Eight said before taking a huge swig of his tea. The spicy flavor invigorated him. How did Kamabo make him forget this stuff?

“Did you and the DJ… you know?” Marina’s voice fell to a whisper.

“I did,” Eight confessed. “And you know what? He told me you were down there all the time. Should I believe him?”

“Oh, clams.” Marina fidgeted with the ends of her tentacles and looked out the window for a long time. Then her gaze returned to Eight. “Unfortunately, he’s not lying about that. My body… aches for him sometimes. I’m sure you know the feeling.”

“Definitely.”

“And I hate to admit it, but I’m thinking of taking someone down there with me next time. Someone I’ve loved for a long, long, time now.” Marina’s eyes grew misty. “I don’t want to keep him a secret from her. She deserves to know before we go steady.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“You can’t guess?”

“No.”

_“Pearlie!”_


End file.
